Entropy
by aspectabund
Summary: (HIATUS) You were once a star. A beauty, a treasure, the only gem to retain its pure core. Then you were fire, the flames encompassed you, and you left your past in the embers, your friends included, to rise from the ashes. And now, you are nothing. You are space. You are alone - and you like it that way. AU.
1. 00 prologue

_Author's Note:_ This is my very first fanfic on this site, and I hope you like it. I've always been intrigued by the pasts of each Teen Titan, but especially Starfire's, probably because it's so underplayed in the TV series. So this is my attempt to breathe a little life into her history, a little bit of magic, a little bit of my own voice and twists.

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Teen Titans. If I did, then it would have about, oh, five hundred seasons, and at least thirty movies. And give us more Tara information, that last episode just killed me. But anyway…

* * *

**Entropy**

* * *

Life gets rough; we know that. We can all agree on the misery of living. Our hearts have gotten smashed, our legs have gotten broken, and worst of all… we just keep on losing.

In physics, entropy is the amount of disorder, the measure of chaos, the ruler of terrible, and it increases with mixture. Put two things together, and they will erupt into shambles. It's a rule, it's a science, and it is poetry. So it's only natural that we stay alone. It's advisable and wise and smart to be on our own, to avoid mixture, to keep our entropy to ourselves.

But you believe differently. Young princess, bright eyes, hopeful glimmers, you don't believe it at all. You defy the facts, and you will continue to deny it. You live in a bubble, and you know it won't pop. You don't even know, can't know, what's coming next.

It's a dark night, and everything is beautiful. The stars are out, and they are four years away, and you close your eyes. Four years ago… you were eleven. How refreshing the memory feels; confusion and hormones and pimples. Your worst subject was Literature, but you excelled in Science, and you reigned in History, and you were victorious in your battle with Math. You were invincible, weren't you? And now you are fifteen, you are halfway done with the first year of high school, and you are finally getting used to being a teenager.

You can't possible sense the pit ahead of you, dangling beneath the tip of your toes… waiting for your move, the wrong move, the move that you will undoubtedly make. Because you are Kori Anders. You are, in the end, sweet, naïve, innocent, pure, and above all, predictable.

* * *

The walk home is long, but beautiful. The clouds resemble birds, and you want to climb a tree and try, just once, to imagine flying. Just once. But you don't, because you know your friends would look at you strangely; they accept you, they like you, but they have outgrown your antics long ago. You are, it seems, stuck in the past you cannot relive again. You are still giggly, still dreaming, and still… still childish. And sometimes, they tire of it. But they will never tire of you, you know that.

Your house is farthest away from Jump City High. So you are, therefore, the official goodbye girl. You are the one who is always there, always the last to leave, always the last to stop caring. You don't mind, because it suits you: you, loyal and darling, always with her friends, always there to comfort. You have perfected the art of friendship long ago.

"Goodbye, Victor," you say to the large sophomore. He is a grade older than you, a grade older than all of the others, but his house is on the way, and he has the capacity to be friends with everyone. He says goodbye loudly and boisterously, bounding up the stairs. He is a large black young man, his muscles bulging from all of the sports he plays. He is the best in all of them, you know; you've heard the Jump City High legends. He began with football, but he grew restless after the season was over and started tackling _every_ sport. And he beat everyone in all of them, without even trying.

You are lucky to be friends with such a star.

Garfield is next. He transferred to Jump City High a few months ago, and he was walking home alone on his first day when Rachel noticed him. She quietly pointed him out to you, almost to herself, wondering who the new boy was. You remembered your own lonely beginning, and beckoned for him to join you. He bounded over joyfully and made himself a part of the gang effortlessly, as if he had always been there. As if you and your friends had been waiting for someone like him to come along, eventually. You hug him tightly before he leaves, waving enthusiastically and shouting goodbyes.

You have become fond of him, his caretaker, and you are deeply protective of him.

Rachel is third. The quiet girl is sensitive and intuitive, and you do not know much about her. But you like her eyes, and although you don't understand her, you appreciate her insight. She is the one to speak up when everyone has lost their heads, the permanent reminder of what is right, what is truth, and what is worth it. She is smarter than you could ever be. She is the girl with all the answers. She is the girl who can control herself, is cool, calm, and collected, and above all, mature. You wave cutely at her, beaming at her until you cannot see through your happy eyes any longer. "Goodbye, Rachel!" you call out, but she is already gone.

You are, admittedly, a little jealous of her, and for this reason, you pull her closer to you; you don't want such guilt-inducing feelings towards your friend, and only girlhood intimacy will cure the green monster.

And then, Richard. He was the one who asked you to sit with them at lunch in fourth grade, when he noticed you sitting alone after a week of solitude. Most days, you chatter on cheerfully as he listens, smiling sympathetically at you at the right time, chuckling when you amuse him. He makes a few comments here and there, but for the most part, you keep it going, mostly because you want to thank him for giving you the opportunity of belonging, and because you think he is amazing and reliable and silent and strong. Some days, the two of you are completely silent, save for a few thoughtful comments here and there. It's a warm silence, a silence you could get used to, this quiet that reminds you of trees and oceans and cherry blossoms. When you arrive to his house, you wave at him and smile, and he does the same. He doesn't look back once, and doesn't see you waiting for him to be in, safe and sound.

You feel, for some reason, connected to this boy. A deep sort of kinship that makes you feel at home.

You continue walking, and you stop when you reach your destination. You notice how different your home looks from your friends' apartments, townhouses, and houses. You live in luxury. Your parents are King and Queen of the mustard business, and the Tamaran kingdom is as strong as royalty.

"I am home, Mother, Father, Kim, Ryan!" you call out. It is a ritual, for each Anders family member to announce their arrival. It started out as a reassurance, because you always got scared when you heard the front door open, always afraid of whom it might be. Thus, the tradition began. Mother and Father did it lightheartedly, Ryan joyfully, Kim dryly, and you always did it lovingly.

"Daughter!" Mother races down the Cinderella-esque stairs to greet you. She is rushing, much more earnest than usual, and she is waving an envelope in her hands. Perhaps a letter from Grandmother has arrived. You smile warmly at her as you take the first steps towards her, waiting for the usual embrace. But nothing about the hug is usual; it is much too tight, much too jumpy on Mother's part. So you pull back and search for an explanation in her eyes.

"What's going on, Mother?"

"Do you remember the gymnast school you applied to?"

"No, I don't." You raise your eyebrows at her, because you know you didn't apply for anything. You are a talented gymnast for your age group, but you are certainly not qualified for such a prestigious honor. There are a few of those schools spread throughout Europe and other far-off foreign lands, but all of them are rigorous, in both academics and the practice. More importantly, all of them are boarding schools. Even if you had applied, and somehow been accepted, you wouldn't leave.

"I do." The voice startles you, but you recognize it immediately; you look up to your older sister immensely. Kim is beautiful, fun, grown up: everything you are not. She saunters down the stairs with that slow, sensual sway of her hips. She is always calm, and she is always in control. Her eyes never stray from yours, and you raise your eyebrows questioningly.

"Kim," Mother says, "what do you have to do with this?" Her voice is weary and she takes a step towards her first daughter, as if Kim has something up her sleeve. But your older sister doesn't answer, not until she is directly in front of you; your mother is ignored. And you are about to ask the same question Mother asked, but the warmth in Kim's eyes silence you. Your older sister rarely shows emotion; right now, you only want to bask in the affection you see.

"I applied for her," Kim says, "because I knew she would make it in." She doesn't smile, doesn't even look at you, but the tenderness in her voice makes you want to weep. She believed in you when you didn't believe in yourself. This is her gift to you, and this is worth giving up Jump City for. You've been here for a full semester, but what is a semester compared to a lifetime of sisterly love? No, you want to go. You are suddenly hungry for this chance to leave. You forget the daily walk home, the rituals, the routine you've come to love.

The room is silent, as both Anders girls wait for their mother's response to the bold move. The air quivers in anticipation, and you shiver in your wait.

Eventually, Mother turns to you, and kisses your forehead. She murmurs, "Congratulations, daughter," without pulling her lips away. You close your eyes and smile humbly. When cool air replaces the heat of Mother's mouth, you look up and see Mother motioning for Kim to follow her into the kitchen.

Is she going to scold Kim for acting in such confidence on her part? Alarmed at the very idea of it, you speak up. "Mother," you say desperately, "I am grateful for this. I want to go. So please… let me." You see Mother's surprise and Kim's blank face, but you know that Kim may get in serious trouble for her actions and her secrecy, so you continue, despite the nervous tremors in your gut. "I… I told Kim I wanted to apply, but I was scared and changed my mind, so… so she did it for me."

The lie comes unbidden and unwanted, but it stumbles from your lips like a curse word, and once it's out, you can't take it back. You see Kim's eyes widen, but Mother doesn't; she only sees you, and she is examining your features, the face you inherited. She is convinced, by your pleading eyes and Kim's silence, and nods compliantly. "Begin packing, Kori. You leave tomorrow morning, according to the letter."

That gets your attention. "Tomorrow?!" you exclaim, "but the letter arrived today!"

"It was a postal error," Mother says, orderly, logical, and calm. Everyone in the Anders family cools in the face of crisis – except for you. You are forever enthusiastic, your words and face and actions an open book for the entire world to read and analyze and mock. You show too much, and you cannot hide anything; it is a Kori Anders quality that most find overdone, and it is constant, and most of the time, you are okay with it.

Right now, though, you just want to be like everyone else so you can react normally in this situation.

"Oh… alright," you say miserably. Your feet drag as you slink to your bedroom. The weight is heavy and gravity is pulling you down, but you keep your posture straight. You are leaving tomorrow morning.

And you can't even say goodbye.

* * *

"Don't forget to call every day, daughter."

"That's my girl; of course they wouldn't deny an Anders! Make me proud, honey."

"Go Kori! Wahoo!"

"See you later."

Kisses on the forehead, kisses on the cheek, excited clamors, enough hugs to last a lifetime… and silence, from the sister who handed you this experience. You are leaving, and at the moment, you are staring into the faces of your family. You will miss them.

You will also miss the friends who are not present, who will assume you are absent due to sickness, or a dentist appointment.

You look back once more before you get in line to get your ID checked at the airport. Your family is beaming at you – save for one. Your sister stands still, arms crossed, a small, comforting smile on her lips. Her eyes do not shine with pride and excitement like the others; merely a knowing. She knows that you are going to succeed. It is her way of saying good luck.

* * *

You step off the plane. You have arrived. You are in Madagascar, and you are waiting for the designated driver to take you to this gymnast school, this boarding school, this Guardian Academy. And there he is: a large man, unattractive and stoic, holding up a sign with your name on it: Kori Anders. You step up, smile nervously, hand him your bags, and follow him. For once, you have nothing to say.

You step in the taxi. You take a few deep breaths, and you are prepared to strike a conversation with this intimidating man. "Hello, my name is-"

Everything goes black.

* * *

_I'm a little hesitant to continue on with this tense, so please give me your feedback, it would be greatly appreciated! Keep in mind that this is only a prologue; the actual story has not happened. This is a blast to the past. The story will not continue where this leaves off, but the events will unfold throughout the chapters. I'm sure most of you can guess what happens next, but if you don't… then you'll just have to wait, love._

_Please review! Your feedback makes everything better, gives me an extra boost to keep this going, and helps me make this even better for you!_


	2. 001 familiar faces

**Thank you for the reviews! If you have any questions, comments, suggestions, or ideas that you want a reply to, then feel free to PM me. I promise, I'm a really nice person, except I do bite people's shoulders, but that's the beauty of Internet: I can't actually physically bite you! **

**Just a quick note: I did change the rating to M, because this is going to have some serious themes (e.g. sex, language, etc). So if you wouldn't want your parents to know you're reading that sort of thing, theeeen you better not read it! **

**ALSO, writing this chapter broke my heart - but not because of what happens! More like an allusion to something. If you can guess what it is, I'll give you a prize! (Not really, since I tell you what it is at the end of the chapter.)**

_**Richard: So, how come my name's Richard and not Dick?**_

_**: Because that's how I want it, dude. Don't be a Dick. HA!**_

_**Richard: How come you can change the name I'm called by, huh?**_

_**: Because I don't own Teen Titans, and I don't have to follow the rules! I'm a rebel!**_

_**Richard: … This is why nobody likes you.**_

* * *

Jump City is a city that defies time. It's marked by a looking back over the shoulder at the glorified past, wistful, constant, unchanging. It's too busy focused on what used to be to look at what is ahead. For that reason, and that reason alone, I am completely calm when I step out of the taxi; my past, after all, doesn't exist. The house standing before me is mine, by inheritance, by the will my parents left behind. The taxi is waiting for me, but so is the world, and I will be damned if I give into either. The driver makes small noises of frustration, but he's insignificant, unimportant in the face of this vast history in front of me.

This place used to be my home. This whole city used to be mine. You would have expected some warm welcome, some little murmur through the atmosphere that warmly winked you back into its fold, with that kind of claim on a place. But I got nothing but cool detachment, nothing but indifference. It wasn't new; the wind whistling through my soul was, by now, my very own lullaby. But I had to admit, I had been expecting... well, something.

I throw a couple of bills into the backseat and start walking. The taxi's tires shriek, and without looking back, I know it's gone. The driver is probably angry, grumbling about the arrogance of the wealthy, how he needs to work his ass off at three jobs to keep his wife and his two children alive; how he doesn't need cocky ungrateful bitches like me, especially the pretty ones who haven't worked for a single thing in their life.

Little does he know.

I enter the house and note the squeal of the door's hinges. It's been a long time. I stand in the doorway, take a deep breath, inhale as much of my childhood as I can… and promptly walk out. I lock the door behind me and begin to stroll.

Let's see how much of this city remembers me. Let's see if Jump City is still hiding a surprise welcome, for yours truly.

* * *

I'm walking aimlessly, when I hear it.

"Kori?"

My steps don't slow, but I recognize the name; in fact, I even recall the voice. Regardless, I tread on. There are few things I need to do here, and checking up on old acquaintances is not one of them.

"Kori?"

The sights are familiar, but somehow... foreign. But it is, I suppose, to be expected; I am a completely new person, after all. Who I used to be is nothing like who I am now, and I forget that there was a time before the present. Jump City is constantly admiring the heroes of the past generation, and that love of history helped me love the city, long ago. I loved the stories I heard, the drama, the romance, the action. But now, I only feel like a stranger. Like I've come home to find out my family has moved, or forgotten.

"Kori!" A hand grabs my wrist, and I react. I turn and strike quickly, pressing a neatly manicured finger into the pressure point of this intruder. The perpetrator sinks quickly, painfully crying out. I watch their features twist for only a moment before withdrawing my hand. I am silent, I am staring, and I am completely blank.

"Nice... nice finger," Garfield moans, rotating his shoulder and cracking his nice. I say nothing, and after a few seconds of silence, he realizes I haven't said a single word. His face switches from pain to worry. His eyes widen, his chin softens, and his lips pout ever so slightly. "Kori?" He chuckles nervously, his eyes never leaving mine. I can tell he's trying very hard not to avoid eye contact. I give him credit for his willpower. "Kori, you there? It's me, Garfield."

I give him nothing.

"You know, Garfield?" He starts moving his hand like he's about to punch me in the shoulder but thinks better of it, instead shoving his hands into his pockets. "We used to go to school together. Walk home together? You'd call me an animal when I got too hyper, but you'd always laugh, anyway. Wow, that was a long time ago." He's talking to himself now, rambling, almost. I listen, but I don't remember. I don't know what he's talking about.

He lists a few other memories that I'm supposed to remember, but he gives up. "Come on, Kor. You don't remember? It wasn't that long ago, was it?"

I level my gaze and stare intently at him. The straightness of my eyes must make him nervous, because he starts rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling. "We all wondered where you went, you know. We all thought-"

"I do not know of this Kori you speak of," I interrupt him, speaking firmly, clearly. Garfield stops talking, and only looks shocked.

"You don't remember? How can you not remember, I mean I know we only knew each other for a few months but the rest of us-"

"I am leaving." I turn and begin to walk unhurriedly, uninterested in what he has to say. It's not important; it doesn't matter what they were thinking at the time of my absence, how they spent their time after my departure, the lives they grew into once I was long gone. It doesn't matter, because the past is destroyed, and I don't need it, anymore. I only want the present.

"Maybe you don't remember, but I do. You're my friend. You're a-"

"You are wrong." I turn to face him while I speak, so that he can see the hard edge of my gaze. I keep on interrupting him, and I can see how annoyed he's getting. He lets out an exasperated noise and his hands ball up into fists. I can see his eyebrows furrowing, and the slight flare of his nostrils. He says nothing, because he's confused; I can see it in his eyes. He doesn't know how to react, and once he's accepted that, his entire body relaxes, loosens and releases its tension. I raise an eyebrow, waiting for his response, but he's busy thinking, before finally he speaks up.

"You don't belong here, Kori." I look around me and understand what he's saying. This is the roughest part of Jump City. Years ago, and I want to point out that if I don't believe her, Garfield surely doesn't, either - but he's lived here since he moved here. I don't know his story. I don't know any of my old acquaintance's pasts, their family, anything. It used to bother me, but it was more of a reassurance now; I didn't need to worry about that sort of attachment.

"Stop calling me that," I say lightly, deciding to ignore his comment about 'belonging' and move on. "My name is not Kori."

He is visibly agitated, because he recognizes my face, my voice, but nothing about me is familiar, otherwise. My movements have changed, my mannerisms are strange to him, and none of my words are satisfactory for him. "It's who you are," he says desperately, pleading with me, "You're Kori, the beautiful girl who loved everyone and always reminded me of chocolate chip cookies, and Christmas, and bunnies."

I start tapping my foot impatiently; I really don't have time for this. I should be moving on. But for some reason, I respond. "What do you want from me?" I don't mean for it to, but my tone is weighted with weariness. I just want to get out of here. I don't want to be reminded of what used to be, of who I used to be. Why can't people let go, anymore? It used to be so easy to let things pass you by, things that might be important but weren't so striking to care about at that moment. It used to be simple, to move on. What had happened? Was I still the last one to grow out of the characteristics that marked childhood?

Garfield is silent, picking at the threads of his shirt. He always wore green, which I never understood. That still hadn't changed. I took this moment of silence to evaluate the change in his appearance. His hair had grown out, and what once was light brown was now the deep color of coffee - not quite black, but not quite brown. Somewhere in the middle. His eyes were still pretty and wide, deep with emotion and always reflective of his inner state. Its grey had lightened to silver, and it was striking. His skin was tanned as ever, and over the years, he had visibly filled out, now muscular, but more in the lean sense. Like a cheetah, almost.

Finally, he sighed. "Why can't thinks just go back to the way they were?" He was asking himself, really, looking over my shoulder, into the distant. The facts were getting to him, and he was beginning to understand. He continued to talk wistfully. I couldn't believe we were having this conversation in the middle of the street, but the people passing us by didn't seem to care. They were busy getting drugs, or trying to get home, or something. "You were so happy then," he added, looking back at me and pleading with his eyes.

He wanted me back. He wanted what used to be, he wanted it so very badly. I could see that. Hell, anyone could see that. But that sort of longing always ended up in disappointment, and sometimes, that alone is enough to destroy you.

"Things were never the way you remember. Now just leave me alone." I turn and start walking, but before I can take more than three steps away from Garfield, he grabs my wrist again, this time much more tentatively than before. I whip my body around and glare at him, crossing my arms over my chest. I am getting irritated now, and he seems to recognize that; Garfield's eyes are a little wider and panicked than before, and his movements are rushed, so when he presses an object into my hand, I instinctively wrap my fingers around it.

"Take this. In case you're in trouble, in case you need me, you can call me any time." I look down. It's a walkie talkie. I almost smile, because the memory of it is so fond.

A week after I met Garfield, my parents found an old walkie talkie set from my elementary school years. Excited at this discovery, I brought the set of five with me to school. I was too embarrassed to show them around, so I saved it for the walk home, proudly showcasing it to my friends. Only Garfield was sincerely interested, but I forced them all to take it. We never used it, but it had been nice to think that if I needed them, then...

But that was a long time ago. I immediately harden my features and Garfield, who had seen my expression light up and soften with hope and nostalgia, takes a step back at the abrupt severity of my expression. "I don't need it," I say through gritted teeth, holding out.

He shakes his head, and begins to stammer, "But..."

"Time's up. I'm leaving." But I don't turn around; I wait for him to finish talking. Because if there's anything that people need to know about Garfield, it's that he won't let a moment pass without saying everything he's wanted or needed to say. He needs to let everything out, and if the moment is cut short... well, it never does, actually. He doesn't let it. So I stay, and wait for him to realize that this whole ordeal is over.

"Kori..." He doesn't have much to say. It's like he thinks my name is a lifeline, a rock I'll suddenly recall and pick up and marvel at, a rock that will change my life and my perspective. But it's a rock, it's a name, and nothing so small like that can change my life. Silly boy.

"Things change, Garfield. The girl you want me to be is just a memory."

I see a group of people in the distance, but even from where I stand, I can see that they are intending to catch up with Garfield. I squint, trying to make out their faces, and Garfield turns. Immediately, his gaze comes back to me, but this time, his entire face is lit up, brimming with hope. He knows who they are, but I don't understand...

"Hey Garfield, who are you talking to?"

"Ooooh, somebody's got a secret girrrlfriend!"

"Because the only way a girl would agree to go on a date with him would be if it was in secret."

Oh, of course. It's them. I look intently at Garfield, who hasn't taken his eyes off of me; he saw the way I looked at them, the sudden flash of alarm on my features. He knows I remember... he just can't figure out why I lied. "Come with me," he suddenly blurts out. "Come with me, and talk to them. Please, Kori."

I shake my head. "You go. You're one of them. That's who you are. That's not me." It's a sudden burst of honesty, and it scares me, so I turn and start walking away calmly, as if the entire conversation hadn't happened, as if it hadn't made me remember everything and hurt me just the tiniest bit. He doesn't reach out and try to make me stay, which surprises me. But I don't show it, I keep my face blank as I always do, and keep treading forward. I hear their voices but it sounds like murmuring. My pace is steady and so am I, but I can't help but wish, for a second that things didn't have to change.

* * *

As soon as I turn a corner, I start running. I'm fleeing from the past, and ironically, I'm heading to the home of my childhood. People glance, but they can't see me; I am a blur in a sea of constant, I feel so alone, am I the only one who sees the world like this? Am I the only one who sees nothing but the propensity for tragedy in this forsaken life? It can't be, but it must be. I am so overwhelmed by this curse the earth has handed over to me, this vast knowledge of the end. Because it ends so clearly, so visibly, so fucking sadly, that I can't handle it. I've had enough of that.

I came back because my parents died. They died two months ago, and the funeral was held without me, and I have only come to see what my parents have left me. I don't know how they died, why they died. I don't know where Kim is, where Ryan is, where anyone is. I don't even know where I am. I only know who I am not, and that is all I know about myself. I don't know who I am, I don't know where I've come from or where I'm going to go. I only know that right now, I am not Kori Anders, I am not fifteen anymore, and I am not a girl to befriend.

I shut the door behind me and collapse in front of it, lost in the chaos of emotions. I pull in my knees and bury my face in them, taking deep breaths. The flood of feelings come all at once, and I'm vulnerable. I thought I could handle it. Isn't that what tough people do? They hold it all in. They let it go only when a person of the opposite gender approaches, and let them feel it all, finally help them open up and accept the tragedy of their lives. But I'm not expecting a savior to come get me out of this hole, and let's be honest: I can't live like this. I can't live completely emotionless. I must feel, I must give in once in awhile, but only once in awhile. It's for private moments, when I'm isolated on my own island.

After a few minutes, I grab myself together. I do remember it all, but if this is the consequence of it, I don't want to. So I just... let it go. I'm not that girl anymore. I'm not Kori Anders. I don't know who I am yet; maybe I'll make a new name for myself, something mundane like Sara. I can't forget, of course, but I can prove that I am someone new. I have to. So I get up, smooth the newly-formed wrinkles on my clothing, and start walking out the door. I am going to be a normal civilian, and I am not going to hide. Everything. Is. Fine.

I walk out, and I'm hit with sunshine, and it's blinding. The house is almost completely dark, the blinds closed and dirty with the layers of dust and filth and neglect. So I'm completely caught off guard by the voices.

"I told you she was back!"

I blink away the white spots and my vision clears. Standing in front of me is... well, everyone. Garfield, pointing at me and smiling triumphantly. Victor, his jaw dropped. Rachel, raising an eyebrow and appraising me casually. Richard, rubbing the back of his head in confusion.

And the only thing I can think is: _We've all changed._

It's not just Garfield. Victor has a prosthetic leg and a prosthetic arm. Rachel's changed her entire look; she'd always been into dark clothing and strictly short hair. But she's filled up, her curves are enchanting and in all the right places, and she's learned the art of makeup. She's still dark-looking, but it's more alluring and seductive than it is gothic. And Richard's hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, and somehow, it looks... alright. He's taller, much taller, and muscular.

I wonder what they see in me, the changes they notice at once.

Not enough, I decide. They see nothing. We've all grown up so much; it's even harder to see where we once collided. Everything is blurry, and I'm grateful for it; it'll be that much easier to forget we ever happened.

"Damn, Garfield... She really does look like Kori!" Victor says, slapping Garfield on the back. They're the same height now. Strange.

"She doesn't just look like Kori; she is Kori. Idiots," Rachel says sarcastically, rolling her eyes. I can still tell when she's joking and when she's not, and the affection laced in her tone is stronger than it was before. She's obviously learned how to express her emotions more clearly. It had been difficult, when we first became friends; I was forever getting offended or hurt by what seemed like indifference. I learned after a few years to see the soft light in her eyes, or the slight smirk on her lips, or the bell in her voice.

Garfield shrugs. "I don't know, she says she doesn't know who Kori even is."

"Well, as far as I know, Kori didn't have a twin, so it must be her." They're all talking like I'm not even here, even Richard. I don't mind; I stand there watching them blankly, as if I have no idea what they're saying, as if I'm a foreign stranger. Which, in all honesty, I am. I am reminded once again that Garfield was right: I do not belong here.

No one replies to Richard; he's always had that effect on people. A natural leader, charismatic, demanding attention always. That was Richard Grayson. He smiles at me, and I don't react. "Hey, Kor. What brings you back to Jump City?"

"I do not know of this Kori you speak of," I say, repeating my first sentence to Garfield just a few minutes ago. Richard laughs nervously, but he doesn't turn to the others in confusion, still confident as ever. Victor, on the other hand, can't hold himself back from furrowing his brows intensely.

Garfield hasn't taken his eyes off of me, his expression one of gentle wisdom, as if he knows why I'm acting so strangely, of why I'm lying so blatantly. But he doesn't. He can't possibly know. Rachel is, as usual, stoic, and for once, I'm grateful for it.

"Kori Anders." Richard's voice is louder than before, and it surprises me. It surprises the others, too; his words seem so sudden, like he's announcing something. "She turns 23 in two months. Her favorite season is spring. Her favorite time of day is the sunset. Her eyes are green... just like yours. Her hair is red, like fire... like yours." He pauses, and raises a single eyebrow at me. "Kori, I don't understand why you're acting like this."

Another pause, this time longer than the first. He's not searching for words, or doing it for effect; he's giving me an opportunity to speak. I know this, but I don't say anything. I stare at him, still detached, still careless. After awhile, Richard speaks again. "I know you left, and it's been a long time, but it doesn't matter. We just want our friend back."

"You can't have her," I whisper sharply. My words surprise even me; not for what I say, but for its sharpness, its serrated edge, its jaggedness. I didn't mean to give anything away, but I can't stop myself. They know, anyway. Another attempt at ignorance would only result in more and more insisting, and coaxing. It's easier, I realize, to just reject them flat out. With this in mind, I continue, and they, in shock and in curiosity, listen intently.

"I am not Kori Anders." I make eye contact with each of them after this deliberately. I make sure my face is blank throughout the whole thing, though my voice contradicts the careful expressionless nature of my features. "I am not your friend. I am _not_," I say forcefully, "the girl you want me to be."

They're silent, and they don't have anything to say. Rachel is the first one to speak up. "Then, who are you?"

I was just asking this of myself, wasn't I? Why is it that your closest friends know you better than you do, that without even knowing it, they have exactly the right questions? Even now, they know. They're not even my friends anymore. They have no idea what's happened to me, or who I am now. They don't know anything about me, but somehow, the mental connection is there. They know it, and I know it. I show no sign of nervousness, and instead, straighten. All of them seem to straighten as well; we are that connected, even now. But it won't do them any good, won't do me any good. I don't want any of this.

"I've gone by many names in the past seven years," I say slowly, wondering if I should be saying this. But they've already been said, and I'm forced to go on by my own thoughtlessness. "And the one that's stuck is Starfire."

All of them are thinking this over; they don't understand my strange words. They're wondering whether I was a prostitute. Or whether I committed a serious crime and hid all around the country, going by different names to keep my identity a secret. Anything to explain my strange proclamation. But I'm not going to give them any more information.

"Well, nice to meet you, Starfire. I'm Richard." He takes a step forward and holds out a hand. His lips only come up on the left side, and his dimple pops out at me. He is still so charming. I stare at him until he drops his hand casually, and you would think it'd be awkward, but it isn't; it's almost as if he wanted it to happen that way. That was the presence Richard had; he had that same charisma in high school, but the years had perfected it, and even I was caught off guard.

"I'm Garfield!" Garfield practically leaps forward, embracing me so tightly I can't get out, though I try. When he lets me go, he's beaming, his entire face lit up. I can only stare at him, at them, at all of them, in shock. I'm speechless, and I don't know exactly why. It just wasn't what I was expecting.

What had I been expecting? I don't know, them walking away? Certainly not this. But now that it had... I had so many questions. How had they even managed to stay friends? Had they never left Jump City? And what was with Victor's prosthetic limbs? And Richard's hair? And Rachel's sudden sex appeal?

The only one I'm not curious about is Richard. His story is predictable; he got better and better looking, learned how to charm girls and buddy up with guys, he was the life of the party, the guy everyone liked and loved and wanted to be close to, the guy who never gave anyone but the best the time of day. He had always been like that. It was why I was so humbled by his friendship, and why I always rambled in his presence. I was always trying to be worthy, always trying to be good enough to be his friend.

It was also why I never did understand him. He was too high up to see, and even when I squinted my eyes, I couldn't really see who he actually was. It was like looking into the face of evil and figuring out why it loved the darkness. Evil wasn't evil for a reason; it simply was.

"Victor Stone," Victor said, smiling and taking my hand without waiting for me to give it to him. He doesn't shake it; merely holding it for a few seconds, and dropping it lightly. He doesn't say much, but his smile is calm and his body posture tells me he's trying to keep me relaxed, to calm me down. Always the big brother, always the older guy, of course. He was like this when he was a sophomore too, acting like he needed to look out for us itty bitty freshmen.

"Hey," Rachel says, without introducing herself. She knows that I know her, and I can just imagine how silly she thinks all of this is. And in a way, it is; the act of introducing yourself to someone you've met in the fourth grade is absolutely ridiculous. But in context, the gesture is a little kind, and for some reason, I'm touched by all of their reactions. Richard is still thoughtful and willing to look past the strange exterior of people to become their friend. Garfield is still brimming with excitement and youth. Victor is still the older brother figure. And Rachel is still straight to the point, and the first one to ask the hard questions.

I look at all of them, imagining for a second how it could all play out: they'll draw me into their fold again, and we'll all become close, and eventually they'll ask about what happened and I'd tell them and then they'd get disgusted and they'd run away and they'd-

"No," I say forcefully, shaking my head and taking a step back. I don't want any of this. I know where this will end up. "_No_," I repeat, "You don't know anything. You don't even know why I left." The words are spilling out of my mouth, and I can't stop them, can't stop this flood of letters. I want it to stop, but I refuse to physically press a fist against my mouth. I will at least look composed, even if I don't feel like it, even if I don't sound like it.

Richard steps forward, and before I can run away, puts a hand on my shoulder. He forces me to make eye contact with him by holding my chin, and his eyes are deep with meaning and I desperately look into them like they're a lifeline, a sea of blue that can keep me anchored to the present, even when I know all he wants out of me is the past. But he can't give me the past, it's not possible, it's never going to happen. His face suddenly softens entirely, and he looks so gentle and understanding and kind, it makes me want to weep. But I don't, and I gain control of myself and make everything blank. His face doesn't change, but my knees stop shaking and I can even feel the seriousness of my face.

"But Kori," he says softly, "we do know. We know everything."

* * *

_**Starfire: You know, you kind of make me sound like a mean person in this story.**_

_**: Well, guess what, Starfire, that's kind of what happens when-**_

_**Starfire: SHH, everyone's going to find out what happened in the past!**_

_**: Oh yeah! Thanks, girl.**_

**Did you guys figure it out? The last few bits of the conversation between Garfield and Starfield are a mirror conversation to Terra's and Beast Boy's in episode 65/S5E13. That episode made me cry so hard. That episode, and Troq. I am such a baby.**

**Sorry for the cliffhanger guys. Also, I do make Starfire a little colder and hostile. Okay, a **_**lot**_** colder and hostile. But I hope you guys understand! I'm exploring the character here, trying to figure out why she's the way she is after such a harsh past. **

**I killed myself trying to get this finished, because I'm looking forward to finally moving this on to the fun scenes. I mean, this might have been fun for you guys, but it isn't fun for me without cute stuff and deep conversations. But it's the beginning, the first chapter, and she's still struggling so much. I promise, I have so many good things planned for Starfire.**

**So feel free to PM me and strike up a conversation! ^^ I would love to tell you what I have in mind and discuss what could actually happen. But you know, you'd have to earn my trust first. Go through a special test I have prepared for you. The first question is: "What is my favorite ice cream flavor?"**

**Also, some of you may have noticed the writing is a little strange at some parts. It's to show the way she's thinking, how overwhelmed she is, and all that stuff. It might seem like run on sentences or too much at once, but trust me: it's intentional.**

**Alright, wow these are really long author's notes but I just really like talking to you guys! I feel like we're friends already! So please review, I need your notes to know how to improve and make this even better **


	3. 002 bare walls

Suddenly, Richard is everywhere. His words are resonating like a smash on the gong, ringing and vibrating and impossible to escape. I'm remembering his first words to me: "Come sit with me." I'm remembering my first words to him: "Okay." I'm remembering the first time he hugged me, in seventh grade, after a boy called me names and I stood silently, bearing each wound with what I hoped came off as dignity and strength; after the boy walked away and everyone walked away because there was no fight to watch, and I sank and curled my knees towards me and began crying softly. Richard had only been in seventh grade, shorter than me by at least three inches, but he was strong even then, pulling me up and into his arms. I'm remembering every time he was there, every time he did something that screamed, "I am so perfect," every time I looked up to him for being put together and well-rounded.

And here he is, a step ahead of me even now, telling me that there is nothing about me that I can hide. My resolve falls out from underneath my feet and I sigh, dropping my eyes to the ground and clasping my hands together in preparation for the worst to come.

"What do you know?" I say softly. The pavement has black blobs of what used to be gum. Someone spit that out, and someone else stepped on, and then someone else stepped on... a layer of dust and dirt, until it was nothing but ugly. That was how I felt: moment after moment, tarnishing the bit of soul I had left to claim. I felt utterly sinful.

"You left to go to a gymnastic school. Kim told us about it," Richard pauses when I twitch at the memory and waits for a comment, but when I say nothing, he moves on, smoothing over the incident like it never happened. "We all thought it was great, even though we were kind of bummed that you just vanished, but we were really happy for you, really. And then we found out that the headmaster was a... sexual predator. And, well... It had been hard for the news to find a single girl who hadn't been a victim of... a victim. So..."

His voice trails off, and the rest of them are silent, but unlike mine, their quiet is of respect, of quiet sympathy to the victims, of quiet sympathy for me, even. But I am holding my tongue to keep myself from shouting out in joy: they do not know! They do not know anything at all.

"We should have tried harder to reach you, Kori. I'm sorry," Richard says comfortingly. He puts his hand on my shoulder, I want to shrug it off, but I am in too good of a mood to move. I don't want this ball of emotion to burst from me suddenly. I take a deep breath and release it, the particles of my ecstasy leaving with it.

"I did leave to go to the school," I say quietly. I pause, and raise my head, meeting each of their eyes. They're surprised by the strength they find in them, because this is not what a victim should look like: they should look sorrowful, relieved to have the truth revealed, anything but quiet triumph. "But I did not make it there," I admit.

"Well, then where-"

"That is of no importance," I interrupt Victor. He looked ready to murder someone only a second ago, on account of what he had thought happened to me. Now, he only looked confused. "I am not Kori, I am not some girl with a sob story to give you. I'm Starfire."

Rachel looks at me firmly, her eyes all-knowing. But she doesn't know; she can't possibly know. "Well, then, are we still friends? Or are you going to continue acting like a girl with a sob story?" Her voice is dry, but the hint of teasing in her eyes shows me that she's relieved to hear I did not attend this gymnast school. I know that all of them know that I have something to hide, something to run from. They all know the past is looming over all of us, a dark and foreboding spirit that reminds us of all that can go wrong in life.

But right now, they're willing to ignore that, to accept me back into the fold. And right now, I want to let them. I don't want to fight; they would only press harder. If I play my cards right... I can run away from this, too. I can pretend. I can lie. I've had practice.

I swallow and glance at Richard without thinking; he smiles at me then, reassuringly. I turn back to the others and nod slowly. Garfield grins and punches the air; Victor laughs, says, "Alright!" and high-fives Rachel; Rachel reluctantly slaps her palm against his and rolls her eyes. Richard, still directly in front of me, is still smiling. It's all right. Everything will be fine.

If only.

* * *

"I still can't believe you guys live together," I say incredulously. It's only been two hours since we left the front of my childhood home, but already they've managed to tell me everything I could have ever wanted to know.

Rachel is a writer. As of now, she's only writing the occasional magazine feature story, or a newspaper column, barely making enough money to pay her share of the bills, but she manages. Right now, she's working on a novel, something about a curse that comes with being born, something about not being able to choose your own family. I learn from Garfield's soft side comments that she embraced the 'look your gender' idea when she was sixteen, the age your insecurities decide to peak and suddenly being called creepy is overwhelming.

She dated Richard for a brief stint, and that surprises me. I don't know how I feel about that. It's strange; it's not that just dated, it's that they're still very close friends now. When Victor starts telling me about the two-month period, Richard laughs and comes up behind Rachel on the couch, tapping on the top of her head with his knuckles. "She was the worst girlfriend ever," he says lightly before going back to the kitchen, to make a celebratory ham dinner.

I never thought I'd be flattered by a single ham, but there's a first time for everything.

Even more surprising is when Rachel rolls her eyes and leans in closer to me. "He only thinks that because I was mad at him for flirting with other girls on our dates all the time," she whispers. Rachel's not one for that sort of girlish secrecy, whispering, leaning in, jealousy, or teasing. Or romance, for that matter. Victor and Garfield burst out laughing at her comment, so I'm guessing that it's become normal for her, but it is still peculiar.

I'm not sure I like the new Rachel, but she seems to like herself. Less quiet and introverted, and more open. I want to know what brought this change about, but the couch-time is not for such serious discussions; apparently, the 'couch-time' is only reserved for lighthearted banter.

_Evidence Number One_: When I asked after what made Richard and Rachel break up, Victor makes an abrupt comment about waffles, Garfield laughs nervously, and Rachel visibly stiffens. I tried to ask them what was wrong, but Victor made a joke out if it, saying they didn't want to talk about it because the truth was, Richard didn't like the shape of Rachel's breasts. Rachel rolled her eyes and punched him in the jaw for that, but she also looked very relieved at the lightening of the subject.

Victor was offered several scholarships to prestigious colleges, but he decided to go to West Point. He eventually joined the army, but before he could establish a great career in the military, he was captured, and a risky escape attempt ended up in the loss of his arm and leg... thus, the prosthetic limbs. He had a girlfriend, Sarah Simms, a teacher of the handicapped. Right now, he's a football coach; apparently, having a machine for an arm and leg make him an even tougher coach.

He's a big name in Jump City, because the country made him some kind of superhero for his actions. Garfield whispers to me that he could have escaped completely unscathed, but he stayed behind to make sure the other prisoners got out. All of them were completely unharmed, and only Victor was injured. I am impressed, but not surprised; he likes to look after people.

_Evidence Number Two:_ When I asked him what it had been like being a prisoner and what it was like when he came home, everyone went completely silent. Even Richard seemed to stop preparing dinner, the comforting sound of the kitchen suddenly absent. No one said a word, which was eerie and uncomfortable. I immediately asked Garfield a question about tofu to alleviate the sudden tension, and everything was completely fine.

Garfield is still a vegetarian. He still likes video games. He decided against going to college, and instead pursued an acting career. Right now, he's still working in commercials and doing some modeling. The TV shows he's had a role in have been cancelled after a single season, but he had a movie audition a few days ago, and he's still waiting for a callback, because he "definitely killed it." I'm impressed by his resume, even if he describes it as "only a few stupid commercials;" they're for big company names, and at least his face is out there.

_Evidence Number Three:_ I finally ask him why he only wears green, and he looks down at his lap. I think I hear a whimper, Victor says, "Hey man," and Rachel actually glares at me. I'm stunned, and I say nothing in my shock. Rachel seems to understand my situation so her expression immediately softens, but still, she gets up and sits next to Garfield. Maybe it's only to put a hand on his back, but still, she moves away from me. So then I ask him if he's been dating anyone, and the atmosphere gets even harsher.

I can sense that they want to pacify the mood of 'couch-time' by asking another question after what I've been up to, but they know better. Unlike me, who keeps on asking all the wrong questions. The odd one out, even now. Still the strange one. Still the last one to leave, still the one left behind.

I sigh in relief when Richard announces that dinner is prepared.

* * *

I have no idea what Richard has been up to. No one offers any information, Richard says nothing about his past, and I don't want to make another mistake. So I eat and listen to them talk playfully, occasionally throwing food at one another (courtesy of Victor and Garfield), and arguing.

We didn't hang out all the time when I was still here. We had our own group of friends, but at the very end of the day, we were all together. Rachel had Jinx, Argent, and a few other girls who shared her interests. Victor had his sophomore friends, all of them athletes. And Richard, Roy, Garth, and Wally were the best looking boys in our grade, and easily the most popular. Garfield and I were the only ones who had absolutely no friends besides the others, and due to scheduling conflicts, we never had the opportunity to see each other during school.

So how had they all come together? I asked them, and the story unfolded.

Richard had just graduated from college (he didn't mention the name, though I saw a few knowing glances between the others) and decided to visit home. Victor had just come back from the army, with metal for an arm and a leg. Rachel had never left Jump City, going to a university only a few hours away. Garfield had stayed in Jump City as well, for whatever reason. Garfield and Victor were hanging out when they saw Raven. They decided to room together, because they had nowhere else to go from there; even if they had a destination, they didn't have the money. So they brought together their meager funds and rented an apartment.

Then Richard popped up, out of nowhere, and rang the doorbell. He was grinning casually, and holding up his middle finger at Victor when he answered the door. "I can't believe you guys didn't invite me to this reunion," he had said. And the rest, they said, was history.

It made me wonder: how would I have fit in this puzzle piece? Would I have gone to college? Would I have found someone to kiss? Would I have a job, a career, a future?

Would I have been invited?

* * *

My new bedroom is completely bare. There's a bed and a window, and that's about it. But I thank Richard for it and he smiles at me, embarrassed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "It's not much," he admits, "but tomorrow, we'll go and paint it and make it nicer." I try to insist that it's not necessary, but his gaze hardens and I stop in the middle of my protests. "I promise," he says seriously. The moment is intense and it's as if the entire world has frozen, and for some reason, I think he's about to kiss me. But he isn't; he just turns and walks off.

He's weird.

I sit down on the bed and absently turn my hand in circles across the mattress. I didn't bring anything with me, I didn't expect to spend the night. But Victor and Garfield had thrown a fit over me having to go back to the place where my parents died, insisting it was too depressing of a way to spend the first night home, and practically barricaded the door to keep me from leaving. Rachel shrugged at me. Richard laughed and said, "I guess you're staying, Kor... Starfire."

It's weird, to be back. Already, I can feel the changes. I can feel myself relaxing, settling into what could have been. I'm starting to laugh again. I'm being chattier, a thought occasionally slipping on my tongue and out the mouth without asking me for permission. I'm starting to loosen up. And maybe I'll let this happen. It's nice to just... pretend. Maybe we can keep pretending it's like this. Maybe we can stay like this forever: avoiding the past and focusing on the now. I know I wouldn't mind. But would they?

I lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. This week would be a test-drive, then. I would decide after a week, whether I should stay or not. Say the word and I could disappear in a city like Gotham. I could do whatever I wanted.

I drifted to sleep in peace, smiling at my plan. But I had no idea what this week would provide: a date with each of my friends, a glimpse into the future, and in the end, a question. A question that I can't avoid forever.

_Who am I?_

* * *

**I know not much happened in this chapter, but wasn't it kind of fun? Looking over each person and seeing where they've come from? I have a lot of questions here - some of them questions within questions - , which I am definitely going to answer. I cannot _wait_ to answer them, actually!  
This story will cover more than just the week mentioned here, but a lot will happen during that week. Will we find out what Starfire's actually been up to? No. Will we figure out what happened at each piece of evidence (and Robin of course!) in this chapter? YES YES YES! So stay tuned, darlings, stay tuned.**

**Beast Boy: Which 'evidence' are you going to tackle first?**

**: Can I please talk about Robin first?**

**Beast Boy: No! Why does everyone love Robin the most, _anyway_? I'm just as cool!  
**

**: Yeah, you're my second favorite Teen Titan, Beastie Boy, but come on... he's kind of hot.**

**Beast Boy: Uh, _ew_! Too much infor_ma_tion, dude!**

**: I mean, his butt, for one, is just fantastic. And he just has this whole mysterious 'I am too good for love' persona that is just irresistible-  
**

**Beast Boy: Can we do _me_ first?**

**: Nope. Let's have some girl bonding time first; a girl's gotta have her girls.**

**Beast Boy: That made no sense, but whatever. As long as I'm next.**

**: Um...**

**Beast Boy: Come _on!_**

**Tehes. Beast Boy is so cute. Thank you so much for the reviews, you beautiful people. Mwah mwah mwah ~**


	4. 003 game start

Hey guys! I usually don't like writing AN's at the top, but I just wanted to let you guys know that I just made a Tumblr purely for FanFiction, you can find it on my profile! So check it out, send me messages, become my friend... woohoo!

* * *

_Everyone in the apartment was too far gone to notice the phone's incessant ringing. Most were deep sleepers, and the ones who weren't, were too exhausted to not be tonight. Rachel, the lightest sleeper in the apartment, stirred slightly when the shrill beeping began, but she only turned over and began to murmur in her sleep, cursing softly for whatever reason. Richard groaned slightly and threw an arm over his eyes. Garfield dreamed on, of waterfalls and mistakes and consequences. Victor snored on. Kori slept fitfully, her body at war with itself, moving constantly but never waking._

"_Please leave a message after the beep…"_

"_Hey, baby sister; heard you were back in town. And you won't believe what a little birdie told me about what you've been doing lately. Oooh, Kori, you are in trouble…"_

* * *

I am the first to rise, and for good reason: the windows are directly across from my bed, and without curtains, the sunlight is free to wake me up. And it hurt. I am quick to jump out of bed, eager for the burning of my eyelids to stop. I'm not sure where to go, so I go to the first place I can think of: the kitchen. Hey, girls are a very hungry species.

I'm surveying the contents of the refrigerator (which is, in all honesty, pathetic), when I notice the blinking red light on the phone. They have a landline? Who uses one, anymore? But then, Richard had always been a little old fashioned, and although all of them have a cell phone, they seemed to think a landline was useful. I walk over, press the play button, and return to the refrigerator, determined to find _something_ to eat.

"Hey baby sister," a familiar voice says cheerily, and despite how happy she sounds, I immediately freeze in terror. It's Kim; it's always Kim. I never expected to have our paths collide in Jump City, she was too ambitious to stay in one place forever. She wanted to go to Stanford, become an actress, do something outrageous and find contentment through neverending change.

I didn't want to talk to her, but I did have to know what she had to say. I closed the refrigerator and leaned against it, listening carefully for any surprising tremor in her voice, something that indicated remorse, or love, or any emotion. She was acting like herself, at least; despite her emotionless approach to all things that involved me, Kim had always been a little mocking, sardonic, playful to the very end.

"And you won't believe what a little birdie told me about what you've been doing lately. Oooh, Kori, you are in trouble. I wouldn't have imagined, a little girl like you?" Kim laughed shortly, and I wince. Ouch.

"Maybe we should get together," Kim muses, "I'd like to hear how you've been doing. How you've been… coping. Oh, and someone wants to say hi to you! Hold on, here he-"

"Kori?"

I jump forward and delete the message before the intruder can ask what's going on, before the 'he' Kim mentioned could speak and give away his identity. I don't know who he is, maybe it was Ryan, maybe the little birdie she mentioned, but I know that I don't want to risk anyone getting any suspicions. I turn and face Richard, smiling smoothly, smoothing my hair, still unkempt from sleep. He looks confused, and rightly so. I scramble to find an excuse for my jumpy actions. "Voicemail, wrong number, drunk teenagers… What can you do?" I say, smiling to mask the intense beating of my heart.

"I heard Kim's voice, though," Richard says, looking away from me and staring at the phone. He raises his eyebrows in surprise, and shrugs. "I guess it was just me. It would be weird, having her and you reappear again at almost the same time."

He doesn't seem to suspect anything, but I'm not sure I believe it. I know how smart Richard is, and I'm more than a little paranoid right now, so I immediately jump to the conclusion that he knows, and that he's hiding it on my behalf. I will not accept pity. I grit my teeth and swallow my emotions down. I will remain calm, and logical, and collected. I will smooth over this little conflict, like I have done for so long.

"I thought so too," I say as if I'm admitting something. "But I guess not."

"Do you miss her?" Richard asks as he walks towards me. I shrug and avoid his question, opening the refrigerator again and staring into it without seeing anything but the past. I say nothing. Maybe this wouldn't work after all… it was only 9 in the morning, and already I was remembering everything. Kim's goodbye, the sudden darkness, the blinding light when I finally awoke from unconsciousness… the nightmare that began shortly afterward. And the man who started it all.

I mentally shake my head and turn to Richard, smiling at him gently. "Sometimes," I answer, but it's a lie: I miss her all the damn time. I want my older sister, as much as I don't understand her, as often as I tend to blame her. I want her to take the place of my mother and tell me everything will be alright. But she would never do that. Not hardhearted Kim, not elusive Kim, not Kori's older sister Kim.

"Are you hungry?" I change the subject.

"Yeah, but there's never anything to eat around here, anyway," Richard said with a laugh. Despite myself, I found myself laughing too, because he was right; there wasn't anything to eat. Maybe a few moldy sandwiches, expired milk…

"How do you guys survive here?" I ask.

"We manage," Richard says lightly, running his fingers along the counter absentmindedly, "sometimes, we get pizza. Actually, _most_ of the time, we get a pizza. It takes some money, but we work hard at saving money, too."

"We've all grown up, haven't we?" I say without thinking, looking away from Richard and into the fridge. They have found a home without me, have learned to budget without me, have learned each other's habits and formed their own routines without me. I am, I realize, an outsider.

"Yeah," Richard admits, coming over and putting a hand on my shoulder, "but so have you."

I turn around and look up at him, trying to understand him. His hand drops from my shoulder. What does he mean? Is he trying to comfort me, or trying to convey a hidden message? I have never known how Richard thought, and before, it didn't bother me; in fact, I had liked it, as a little girl with such a crush on the perfect Richard Grayson.

But now, I just didn't trust him.

"I know nothing about you, or them," I say.

"And we know nothing about you," Richard points out.

We stare at each other for a few seconds, both of us trying to see into the other person's mind. I want to know what he knows, what he wants, what he's thinking; I don't know what he's looking for. Maybe the Kori I used to be; I wouldn't know.

"Is something going on here?" Rachel's voice interrupts our stare down, and we look away from each other and laugh nervously.

"Not at all, Rachel," Richard says cheerfully.

* * *

The window in my room surprised me by providing easy access to the roof of the apartment; proof that the worst things can turn out beneficial, after all. The view of Jump City wasn't so great; lots of buildings, lots of random citizens, and lots of the black and silver of metal and concrete and industrialism. But the sky was enough to compensate, although at 12pm, it wasn't as spectacular as the sunset.

But sacrifices are a part of my life.

I pull my knees into my chest and stare out. After an IHOP run, Garfield went to the video games with Victor, Rachel retreated into her room to write, and Richard went… wherever Richard goes. It was a routine for them, and I had no idea where my place was. So I did what anyone else would do: I escaped. I retreated to the top of the apartment, and I have been here for the past hour. Sometimes, I thought about the changes; most of the time, I tried not to think.

The truth is, as much as I try to pinpoint the blame on Kim, I know it isn't her fault. She could not have imagined that the cab driver had been appointed by… well, someone, who had been appointed by someone, to abduct the pretty ones; the pretty _girls_, who could get the job done, who would get jobs done. It wasn't her fault that I did what I did. All of it was my decision, my choice, for whatever reason.

I have done terrible things, and the only remorse I feel is not for doing them… it's for escaping from it. What does that say about me? Not very much.

"Here's what I have so far: Starfire likes to get up early in the morning, sit on roofs, strawberry pancakes, and stare at our friend Richard. She _doesn't_ like to talk about the past… or anything close to it. She doesn't like her name, either."

I look back at Rachel, who is looking at me calmly, with all the wisdom I associate with her name. She starts walking closer and sits next to me, still making firm eye contact with me. "You're kind of confusing, Starfire," she finally says. I look back to the sky and so does she, and we're both just… sitting there. Staring out into nothing.

It's kind of nice.

We're silent for a few minutes, because there's nothing to say. "You're the only one who doesn't call me Kori," I finally say. I'm not sure why I said it, but it's something of importance. Rachel is the only one who has abided by my wishes. The rest of the boys insist on calling me Kori; I don't think they even remember how I told them to call me Starfire.

"Is that good?" Rachel asked.

I don't reply, because I don't know the answer myself. Because as un-Kori I feel, it's nice knowing I used to mean something to them. At the same time, Rachel abiding by my requests means she respects me. Either name shows affection. I know they feel it for a girl they don't know, but it's nice to feel appreciated all the same.

"I can understand wanting to run away from your past," Rachel says, "but it doesn't really work. Experience."

"But sometimes, it feels like the only way. Experience." We're still avoiding eye contact, as if the conversation is too intimate to interrupt with our eyes. Somehow, _seeing_ each other would ruin our words. It would take away their value, and make everything doubtable. If we saw even the slightest hint of some emotion we didn't want to see, then the truth of the words would cancel out, be replaced by doubt and suspicion.

This is a conversation; it is no confrontation. Only an exchange of thoughts is allowed here.

Rachel takes a deep breath, and sighs deeply. "My father is Trent Roth."

"Never heard of him."

Rachel laughs shortly, though it's mirthless, void of any real humor. "Of course you wouldn't; you always were one of the good ones." We both recognize the past tense, and take a split second to acknowledge it. But she keeps telling her story after the moment is over. "He's a mafia boss. The biggest in Jump City. I'm kind of a celebrity among that crowd," Rachel comments lightly, though I can sense the bitterness laced through her tone. "He's… well, he's violent. Abusive, even. And I think you know what I mean."

She looks at me then, straight forward, firm, making sure that I understand what she means. I nod, but I can't hold myself back from asking, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I'm trying to prove to you that I've gone through fucking shit, too, and I'm sure you're looking around wondering why you can't have a life likes ours, too. But Kori, you _can_. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

"You always were straight forward," I say with a smirk, deciding not to comment on her calling me Kori.

"Yeah," Rachel replies, giving me a small smile. "My mom suffered a lot more than I did," she says softly after a pause. "It was an arranged marriage, but she hadn't expected it to be _that_ bad. He beat her a lot, unless she was pregnant, of course. For a long time, it was only my mother that suffered. He had high hopes for all of his children; my oldest brother would take my father's place, and my other two brothers would be his right-hand men. And I would be a sort of spy, using my feminine wiles," Rachel adds sarcastically.

"But then my oldest brother died, and my father went crazy. I went crazy, too. I hated my family, Starfire; my father was an asshole, I thought my mother was a weakling, and my brothers were all jerks. But at the time, I thought they were still family, and I didn't know how to cut my ties with them. So I isolated myself, too, especially after my father started beating the entire family."

Rachel lifts her shirt and shows me her back, revealing a deep scar shaped like an X, ragged at the edges, clearly aged but still prominent and repulsive. "He cut it with a knife, and then poured hot wax onto them. That's what he liked to do," Rachel says dryly.

I'm stunned.

She lowers her shirt and puts her hands behind her, leaning her weight against them. "I never ran away. I wanted to prove to myself that I could handle it, by myself. I could battle my own demons. But it was my mother who ended up winning that battle. She left, and my father decided to go find her. My brothers… they're assholes, too, but they cared a lot about our mother. So they killed my father, and ran away." Rachel moves off of her hands and adjusts her position so she's leaning forward. "So in the middle of my senior year, I came home to find absolutely no one inside. The house was completely empty, and I was on my own."

"So you lived on your own?" I ask her.

Rachel shrugs. "I already was. My father and brothers were never home, and my mother always hid in her room. The only difference was that I didn't have any furniture, but I can handle a hard floor." She grabs my shoulder and forces me to look her directly in the eye.

"I get that you've had a hard time. But I tried to handle everything by myself. For a long time, I thought I could do it. I could barely make ends meet, but I did. I made decent grades to attend a decent university nearby. And I thought I was okay. And then… well, you know what happens after."

"Actually… No, I don't."

"It's fairly predictable. Garfield found me first, and we… bonded. And I loosened up. He helped me a lot for an entire year, just helping me learn how to be more than alone. It was tough work," she admits, smiling sheepishly. "I really didn't want to let people in. I kept on thinking that he would never understand, because I never let anyone know that home was a dangerous place for me. I kept on thinking that he would never understand and it was all a waste of time, because he didn't know and he never would. You know what I mean?"

I don't say anything, because I know and she knows that I know exactly what she means.

"I felt that way for a long time. A couple of years, I think. But in the middle of it, I decided it'd be a good idea to get in a relationship with Richard." My ears start to perk; not because of Richard, but because this topic seemed so taboo and awkward yesterday that I can't help but be interested. "Honestly, it was me who started it. I pushed for it, because I thought it was _supposed_ to happen. He knows me better than anyone, better than even Garfield, and I know him even better. So I started dropping hints, started doing little things that a normal 'friend' wouldn't do. Richard, the experienced playboy he is, caught on fairly quickly, and the relationship began."

Her expression suddenly darkens, and she looks away. "We were getting... intimate, and I forgot about the scars, and... he saw them all. God, he freaked out. So I freaked out, too. I punched him in the face and tried to beat him like my father beat my mother so long ago," she whispers. "He was too quick and too strong to really get beaten, but it happened, and he... he stopped trusting me, and with all of that darkness inside of me exposed, he kept seeing more and more of it, until we broke up. Badly. By that time, we had already been living together, and that wasn't going to change because none of us had anywhere else to go. So we avoided each other for a couple of months."

We are silent for a few minutes, thinking deeply. Rachel is lost in the past, I can see that. Me, I'm touched. I want to take her hand, cup her shoulder, but I know it isn't an appropriate time for it. Besides, I'm not a very affectionate person anymore.

A few more deep breaths, and Rachel starts speaking once more.

"The first one who found out about... me was Victor. I don't know, there's something about him that made me think he could understand. We bonded a lot over stupid things, like his car and my books, and he always was like a big brother. It started with one comment slipping out, he questioned me about it, and I couldn't stop myself. I went crazy, I freaked out, but in a completely different way. I started calmly, but... he asked this one question, this question that triggered just _everyhing_, and I lost it. So imagine this: I'm curled up in a ball on the floor, sobbing my ass off, rocking back and forth and screaming for my mommy, and he just sits there beside me and waits. God, that's crazy."

"Then Richard and I patched things up. Garfield was a little too nice to me after that, trying to make me feel better, but things got back to normal. I didn't think it would, because how can things be normal after something like that? But it happened. I don't know, it always happens; things have a tendency of coming into the light, and eventually, it gets used to that sort of exposure, and you start to like it that way. It just... happens. You'll get there too, Starfire." I want to argue with her, but Rachel starts to glare at me, so I shut up. "I learned to cut off my past. People like to say that it's a part of their identity, but honestly? I can leave it all behind me."

"Exactly." I start speaking without thinking, beginning to ramble and reveal my own thoughts. "That's what I've been trying to do: just leave it all behind."

"But you can't do that until you reconcile with it," Rachel says, her voice as sharp as the narrowing of her eyes, "do you see what I'm trying to tell you, Starfire? I'm trying to tell you that it's possible to get over it, once you've accepted it."

"I have accepted it," I insist. We've entered new territory, a land of saying what we think and feel and being honest without stating the hard truth that lies underneath this entire conversation; we avoid the real issue at hand: the truth. My truth. Completely mine, not for them, not for me to share.

"Sure, Starfire."

I don't say anything. I look away and stare down at my hands as Rachel rises and leaves. I stay on the roof for a few hours, thinking about what she's told me, watching the sky darken and change.

It feels like drowning.

* * *

I'm up there for two hours, but eventually, I have to go down; it's the way of gravity, and it's the way of humanity. What goes up will always go down. I enter the living room and sense something has changed in my absence. Has Rachel told them of our previous conversation? I glance at her, sitting on the couch reading a book, but she hasn't noticed my arrival. But the atmosphere is so clearly tense and awkward that I feel a little more at home.

Richard sees me first, and he clears his throat, alerting the others to my presence. Each of them startle. Rachel and I make eye contact, but she returns to her book before any real exchange is made; Garfield rubs the back of his head and smiles, looking awkward; Richard watches me seriously, like he's studying me for further dissection; Victor grins at me, albeit nervously, and says, "Hey girl, where have you been all morning?"

"Indeed, baby sister."

My jaw drops as I whip around, my long red hair slapping my older sister in the face. She rubs her cheek with a frown, looking at me disapprovingly. "Nice to see you too, Kori," she retorts.

I stare at her. Kim, unsurprisingly, isn't unnerved by my gaze at all, only meeting my eyes calmly, as if she had called to notify me of her visit – which she might have, if Richard hadn't interrupted and made me rashly delete the message. _A thousand curses on Robin!_ I bitterly think.

"Hello, Kim," I finally stammer after a moment's silence. Kim smiles at me coolly and flips her hair back with the confidence I still envied, even now. With a hand on her hip and a smirk on her lips, she was the very definition of effortless, and cool. What had once been emotional detachment had become ultimate, deserving superiority, and she knew it; she knew she was akin to a goddess, daring and adventurous and risky. She had always been this way, I knew, but like so many other things, Kim had hidden her identity from the world.

What had made her want to show her true self off? Or perhaps this was only a guise, as well; perhaps she had changed internally as I had, and decided to bring her former self to light as she developed a completely new self inside of her, one that she sheltered from society.

I didn't want to care, but I did; how could I learn from Rachel after one story, after an hour of reflection? I am not Rachel Roth; I have never been the all-knowing, wise, peaceful mediator, with understanding and experience and piercing questions. I could not rid myself of the roots I had created in the people I once loved, in the people I still loved. I am not Rachel Roth. I am Starfire… but Kori Anders still lives within me, a small part carved out and imbedded into my palm. And Kim Anders was a large part of Kori Anders, and by default, a part of me.

"No hug?" Kim quipped, an eyebrow arching at me, the smirk deepening. I took a deep breath and managed a smile, though I was… unsure of how to feel about her return. Because although her voicemail had been cut short, it had been clear on one thing: she knew.

She knew everything. And she may have been a part of it. I don't know which scared me more.

"Sister," I say simply, stepping forward and wrapping my arms around her. She returns the gesture, tightening her grip on me so that our bodies are no longer comfortably meshing into each other; instead, they're crammed, and my breasts hurt from the sudden pull of her arms.

"Game start," she whispers into my ear.

But I don't even know what game we're playing.

* * *

**Raven: ****You paired me with... Robin. _Robin._**

**: Hey, I'm not a fan of that either, but it's totally plausible and understandable, admit it!**

**Raven: Yeah... I think you being insane is 'totally plausible and understandable' too, then, Julie.**

**: YOU KNOW MY NAME?!**

**Raven: ...**

**Cliffhanger! Well, kind of. I didn't want to leave you _completely_ hanging. Was that an okay chapter? God, I hope so. I'm not sure whether I want to keep this story going or not, because though I have a huge long list of what I'm planning for _Entropy_, I don't know if it's really good. I mean, are the chapters alright? Is it too boring? Is nothing happening? Is it too much character development, too much delving into the histories of the characters? Is it too much Starfire? Is Starfire hard to understand? **

**It's been a long time since I've written last; hence, the questions and slight insecurity. Sigh. Sorry guys! But seriously, I do hope this one was a bit better! Something actually happened, and more hints were given, and there was a lot of intensity - for me, at least. **

**There may be a few mistakes here in tense; I'm not used to writing in present tense, and I keep on messing up! Dang it. Grrrrr.**

**ALSO, just wanted to let you guys know: THERE IS ROMANCE! The main pairings are Robin/Starfire (of course), BB/Raven (duh!), and I'm not sure who to pair up Cyborg with yet. There's Sarah Sim vs. Bumblebee vs. Jinx. Yes, I'm all in for CyborgxJinx. Actually, I basically ship everyone with everyone (within... you know, reason and my sanity).**

**Alright! Hope you guys liked it! :) Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon!**


	5. 004 pieces

Kim won't tell any of us why she is here.

"Just visiting," she says casually, plopping down into the couch and lazily crunching on yet another bag of chips she keeps on finding magically.

"I got bored," she shrugs and flips her hair back, strolling through the halls, peeking into as many open doors she can find.

One more time, I decide. "Sister, forgive me for sounding... pushy, but why are you here?"

"I just heard you were in town," she winks and waltzes out of the living room to explore the apartment. She's probably heading towards my bedroom.

Richard moves to follow her, but I put my hand on his shoulder. A lot of things have changed in the past two hours. For one, Rachel, Richard, Victor, and Garfield with have rallied behind me, even under the unusual circumstances. They all hold a personal grudge against Kim for applying to the school for me, taking me away and putting me through a suffering that they still do not know.

But it's not Kim's fault; it's not fair. I know that. Regardless, they seem to dislike Kim anyway, especially now that she's come into their lives and act as if she belongs. Something about her confident stride and careless smiles rub all of them the wrong way. But not me. I know my sister, and I know that somewhere underneath that exterior... she is my sister.

"It is okay, Richard," I say softly. "I have nothing to hide from my sister."

"And yet, you still hide from us, your friends," Richard says lightly, distantly, almost, meeting my eyes firmly to show that he acknowledges the complexity of my ways. I shrug and offer no response. For a long moment, we stare at each other. Our friendship, if you can call it that, has become more complex than I would like. He is unable to forgive me for my withdrawal of the truth and he continues to question my decision, subtly or bluntly.

But he doesn't understand, and I don't expect him to. I merely put up with it, because there is nothing else I can do.

After a few seconds, both of us relax. "Where's she going?" Richard asks.

I don't need to be told who 'she' is. "Probably my bedroom," I shrug.

Richard nods, and without warning, his features light up. "Speaking of your bedroom, I bought paint this morning. I thought a darker shade of pink would fit you."

I shrug; I don't care about such trivial details like the color of my bedroom. Richard looks disappointed at my lack of a response for a second, but he lightens up so quickly I almost question my vision. But over the years, I've trained my eyes to see absolutely everything.

Kim walks in then and begins complaining. "Guys, this place is _bo_ring. Don't you guys have any video games or something?"

Garfield lightens up considerably, though he is clearly trying not to. "We have a couple over here," he calls out tentatively, glancing over at me to gauge how upset I would be if he played with my sister. I smile at him and he beams at me. Then he starts bragging about his skill and the number of video games in the apartment.

Richard laughs and I turn my attention away from my sister and back to him. "She sure knows the way to Garfield's heart," he comments. I can't help but laugh at that, shaking my head slightly.

"He hasn't changed at all," I agree.

"He has, though. We all have." Richard looks at me firmly, and I want to squirm under his gaze. He tends to turn lighthearted moments into serious ones, probing at my conscious and trying to coax out some revelation from me. It's his way of getting me to say the truth, I can see that. I can see that he's anxious to finish this story, and I can see that he's desperate to see the last page of this novel. He wants the truth. He wants the whole story. He's never been able to deal with unfinished endings; even when we were children, he was like that. He could never rest until a conflict was solved completely.

"But some things remain the same," I say in retaliation. This is my way of getting him to stop making our conversations so awkward and serious: by being just as serious as he is. Maybe then, he'll leave me alone. Maybe then, he'll find something to satisfy him for a few days.

Richard nods and smiles compliantly at me. "Victor is still athletic, even with machines for limbs. Rachel is still a bookworm, and she still prefers tea to coffee – for some reason I can't understand," he adds candidly, wrinkling his nose at the idea of anyone not favoring coffee. "Garfield still likes video games."

"And you're still the leader," I remind him. His smile widens at the compliment.

"Thanks." We share a moment of silence, of mutual gratitude, him for the unbidden praise, me for the silence. Then he interrupts the calm, peaceful quiet between us, and I'm unnerved by what he says.

"Everything about you has changed."

I want to argue with him, because it's in my nature; I don't like people accusing me of something, especially if they're making a statement about me, as if they know me completely. And Richard certainly doesn't know me completely; nobody does. I open my mouth angrily, but before I can speak, he cuts in. "It's true," he insists, perceiving my reaction before I can actually react. "Nothing about you is the same. You aren't as bubbly and cheerful, you don't like hugs, you don't like strawberry ice cream, and you haven't said anything about how beautiful the sky looks in a day."

"We haven't been outside long," I remark lamely, unable to disagree with anything he says.

He ignores me. "You're secretive and sullen, calm and unfeeling-"

"You don't know how I feel," I interrupt coolly. My voice comes out low and dangerous, threatening, almost a warning at the anger that is ready to explode from me at any moment. "I'm not as bubbly and cheerful because I'm not fifteen anymore. I don't like hugs because they're unnecessary, when all of you have given me a place to stay without me even having to ask; the gratitude is enough affection, is it not? I don't like strawberry ice cream because I've grown to prefer mint chocolate chip. And I'm secretive, because I'm not ready to tell you anything, because I don't _owe_ you anything. I'm sullen because you make everything serious every time we speak. I am calm because all of you are calming and try to make me as comfortable as possible. But I am _not_ unfeeling," I finish viciously.

Richard stares at me without emotion. _Who's unfeeling now?_ I think angrily.

"Kori, you're my best friend," he says softly. I'm taken aback by the present tense. "If I say you're different… you are."

He turns and leaves. I'm speechless, and I have no idea what to say. What is there to say? No one's noticed the sudden change in the atmosphere around me; Victor is at the gym, Rachel is reading a book in her room, and Garfield is at the other end of the living room, at the couch with my older sister, yelling, "That's not fair!" And Richard just left.

How nice it must be, to be ignorant.

* * *

"So do you feel like you're being invaded?" Rachel asks me. We're sitting on her bed and talking as I paint her toenails, out of sheer boredom. You'd think they'd have jobs to go to, but apparently, they all have Tuesdays off.

I resist the urge to shrug because her pinky toe is the hardest to paint. "A little," I admit, "but now I know she's okay, and maybe we can have a little bonding time while she's here."

"_Now_ you know?" Rachel repeats, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Yes. After I left to Madagascar, I didn't contact my family for a long time. Ever, in fact," I say softly to her toes. I wouldn't have expected it, but Rachel and I have formed a deep friendship since our conversation on the roof three days ago. For the past three days, she's been the only person I've allowed myself to talk with freely and openly. I've accidentally slipped a few details during our long talks, but she doesn't remark on them, even though both of us know that she's keeping track of them, trying to bring different pieces together.

It's a strange relationship, I know.

The boys give me space, for the most part. Victor is content to let me figure everything out on my own, while Garfield gives me space by acting like nothing is wrong. He just keeps rambling and being cheerful and sharing stories and acts like it's perfectly normal for me not to respond often or laugh with him, even though both of us know we're trying very hard to be friends when we don't really know each other.

Richard and I share only pleasantries. Something's been different since the last time we talked, and we haven't said anything but common courtesies. I'm not even sure if he's still planning on painting my bedroom. At this point, I don't even care. Kim's been staying with me, but she steals so much of the blankets that I usually end up going to the couch in the middle of the night. I make sure to wake up earlier than everyone else so no one knows, but Rachel caught me this morning sneaking back to my room.

"How'd you find out about your parents?" Rachel asks.

"Oh, a lawyer, who somehow tracked me down. I don't question the ways of men like him," I say dryly, and Rachel chuckles, to my surprise.

"Yeah, lawyers aren't my favorite people either."

"It's not that," I say, "it's just him personally; he's a little strange. His name is Sebastian Blood, and he gives me the creeps."

"Sebastian Blood… I've heard that name before," Rachel mutters. I focus on finishing her toes, and we're silent for the next two minutes. Finally, I close the bottle of nail polish and set it aside.

"Finished," I announce.

She doesn't even look at her black toenails. She's looking at me, instead, warning me with her eyes that she's about to ask an uncomfortable question. I straighten my back and square my shoulders, preparing mentally to answer as vaguely as possible. But the question she asks isn't the one I expect.

"How did your parents die?"

I uncross my legs and pull my knees to my chest. "They died only weeks apart from each other. Three weeks, exactly. And it says they died in their sleep, but according to Mr. Blood, they died of grief. Apparently, they weren't the same after I left. Heartbroken." I bury my face into my knees, ashamed. I killed my parents. I killed them.

All my fault.

Rachel puts a hand on my shoulder and shakes me. "Dying from heartbreak is really giving up on life; actively deciding that life isn't worth living because of the grief, and ceasing to survive, to exist, even. Your parents were too strong to really die from grief, you know that."

"How would you know?" I ask, raising my head and challenging her with my gaze.

She doesn't back down from a challenge, ever; I've learned that very quickly about Rachel. "Because you're like that too, Starfire."

She has no idea what she's saying. She has no idea what's happened… but she's right. But it's not strength, the way she sees it. The burning need to survive isn't always admirable. Sometimes, it forces you to make a decision: to die, or to do a despicable thing, and let your conscience, your inner being, your true identity, die; cease to exist, or abandon all of your morals, all of your beliefs, all of your values.

Sometimes, the desire to live on is damning.

"Touché," I whisper.

* * *

**Hey guys! This will be the last chapter I put up for this story… for awhile. I realized that updating is going to be really hard, especially if I want to do it routinely. But I'm not giving up on it! I still need to tell you everything! So what I'll be doing is actually **_**finishing**_** the story, and then posting it up. I know it'll be weird, and it might not work out for you guys or for me (as in, you guys might lose interest and I might never get people interested again) but I think I need it. It's becoming very hectic with AP exams, finals, and summer coming up (summer is a time for the work you couldn't do during the school year, in my world).**

**I'm so sorry about this, but I really can't do much about it. I have to sacrifice something to keep my world balanced, and right now, this is it. But I'll be working on this story bit by bit, and if you want, I'll keep you guys updated! Through Tumblr, maybe? Through editing my profile, maybe? Let me know what you guys prefer for updates, or what you guys want at all. Opinions, comments, anything.**

**Also, this is **_**not**_** goodbye! This is a see-you-soon! For this fanfic, anyway. I'll most likely still post up drabbles and oneshots! I'm also working on a new series, titled **_**Azarath.**_** It will be a trilogy (with the next two stories titled **_**Metrion**_** and **_**Zinthos**_**, obviously). I didn't want to set it in an AU universe, but it is – to an extent. Superpowers and superhumans and aliens and Boy Wonders still exist; it's just that the Teen Titans itself doesn't exist. Yet.**

**Instead, super-teenagers will go to a school called The Hive, where they will be trained, perfected, and eventually, released into the world with a team of superheroes they will form in the beginning of their second year at The Hive. Their first year is designated to start the training process, and the students are to pay close attention to who they work with best, so they can choose their team the next year.**

_**Azarath**_** will take place during the Teen Titans' first year at The Hive – but not all of the story will take place in The Hive. A large part of it will take place in Azarath – duh, it's called **_**Azarath**_**!**

**So be looking forward to that! I'll see you all soon. **


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